One Love

by Matt Cain

Genres: General Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

From the author of Becoming Ted and The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle, a new 'utterly joyful' audiobook about love, friendship and identity.

Two men. Twenty years of friendship. One love.

*Pre-order the uplifting new audiobook from Matt Cain*

2002

Danny arrives at Manchester University determined not to hide from the world any longer. This is the year his life will begin.

He locks eyes with a handsome stranger across the hall at the Fresher's Fair. It starts with a wink and soon Danny and Guy are best friends.

2022

Now, both single for the first time in years, Danny and Guy return to the confetti-covered streets of the Gay Village for Manchester Pride.

After years of shared adventures and lost dreams, Danny finally plans to share the secret he has been keeping for two decades. He has always been in love with Guy.

Could this weekend be the end of a twenty-year friendship . . . or the start of something new and even more beautiful?

Praise for Matt Cain:

'Heart-warming and joyful, but also so poignant' LORRAINE KELLY

'Full of warmth, humour and courage' RUTH HOGAN

'A rollicking love story' IAN McKELLEN

(P)2024 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: April 29, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 448

Sample

Danny stands on the concourse of Euston Station and draws in slow, steady breaths. As he catches sight of Guy, a mixture of excitement and fear live-wires through his body. He tries to compose himself.

He sees that Guy’s wearing a bicep-revealing short-sleeved shirt with khaki shorts and brown loafers. And he’s looking every bit as handsome as he did on the day Danny first met him.

As Guy spots Danny, he tugs his hand through his dirty-blond hair and breaks into a smile. Danny can feel a tickle in his heart.

Act normal, he tells himself. You’re just two friends going away for the weekend.

“Hi, babe,” Danny chirps as Guy wheels his suitcase to a stop. “You alright?”

“Hello, hello,” Guy says, leaning in to hug him. As he does, Danny feels the solid slab of Guy’s chest muscles pressing against him and catches his familiar scent of shower gel and recently applied deodorant. He hopes he hasn’t overdone it on the expensive Tom Ford aftershave.

“So,” he says, “are you all set?”

Guy nods. “To be fair, I didn’t have to do much. You booked the train and the hotel—and you sorted out the tickets for Pride.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to treat you,” Danny says. “Besides, how often do we get to celebrate our twentieth anniversary?”

As he says the words, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate. Then again, the events of the last few years have put their friendship under such strain it’s perfectly natural for him to sound on edge. Not that he wants to remind Guy of any of that. Not now we’ve come through it. Or at least I hope we’ve come through it . . .

Just as an awkward silence is opening up, Danny jumps in with, “Look at the time! We’d better head over to the platform.”

As they weave their way through the crowd, Danny initiates a conversation about work. While Guy is a corporate lawyer currently embroiled in a major case against an oil company that has something to do with tax regulations, which Danny doesn’t completely understand, Danny is an actors’ agent whose clients are enjoying success with a flurry of headline-grabbing jobs in TV and film. He entertains Guy with the latest exploits of a high-maintenance actress he’s nicknamed Demandy Mandy and regales him with the story of a self-obsessed actor called Lance Forster who’s having an affair with a man who works as his look-alike.

“I might start calling him Lance’s doppelbanger,” he jokes.

Guy breaks into a laugh and Danny feels a surge of confidence. It’s good to be back on familiar territory. You’ve always been able to make him laugh, you know that.

He checks himself. You’re trying to make him see there’s more to you than making him laugh, remember?

They flash their tickets at the station staff and make their way down the platform toward the carriage on which Danny has booked two seats on opposite sides of a table. He knew he’d find it too stressful to spend the entire journey from London to Manchester sitting next to Guy, their skin touching on the armrest, Guy able to sense his every tremor. Although Danny must have sat next to Guy hundreds of times before, somehow it would feel different today. He only hopes no one gets on the train and sits next to them.

As Danny lifts his suitcase onto the luggage rack, Guy slides his much smaller duffel bag under his seat. “Have you packed for a week?” he teases.

Danny dismisses his comment with a wave. “You know me, I like to have options. Anyway, who said the aim of packing is to bring as little as possible? Who knows what might happen this weekend?”

As he says the words, fear catches in his throat. He knows exactly what he’s hoping will happen this weekend: he’s hoping to transform his relationship with Guy into the loving, sexual partnership he’s always dreamed of. And he’s hoping to prove to Guy that, despite their twenty years of romantic and sexual liaisons with other men—some of them brief, others more significant—all along they should have been with each other. But it’s a huge risk and the danger is that Danny will lose his best friend in the process, not to mention having his heart broken. And cause myself even more pain than I’ve been caused already.

He tries to distract himself. “I’ve brought us a little picnic,” he announces, lifting a few carrier bags onto the table.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have,” Guy protests. “Now I feel guilty for doing so little.”

“Stop arguing and start eating,” Danny says. “Oh and before you ask, yes, I did bring your favorite kettle chips.”

Guy’s eyes sparkle. “Really? Sweet Chili and Sour Cream?”

Danny drops them onto the table. “How could I forget?”

A grin splits Guy’s face. “Danny, you’re a legend!”

Although Danny grins back at him, he feels a pang of hunger as Guy opens the packet. All month he’s been starving himself in preparation for this weekend. And it’s been tough: his no-carb diet has made him miserable and snappy and he’s flown off the handle at his assistant on more than one occasion. He watches Guy attack the bag of crisps and can’t help letting out a whimper.

“What’s the matter?” says Guy. “Don’t you want any?”

“No, thanks,” Danny replies. “Honestly, I’m not that hungry.”

Oh, it’s alright for Guy; he spends so long in the gym he burns off anything he eats—or somehow it all turns to muscle. But Danny has never been sporty or athletic and has never taken to any of the fitness crazes that have hooked so many of his friends. He’s always been susceptible to putting on weight—enough weight for people to describe him as chubby—and during the pandemic a doughy muffin top started to spill out over his jeans. Even worse, when he gave a particularly hearty laugh, he could actually feel it wobble. That’s why he decided to take drastic action in preparation for this weekend.

As he gives a little wriggle in his seat, he can feel his jeans sitting much looser around his waist. He glances at his reflection in the window and this confirms that he’s looking slimmer than he has for a long time. He may have lost most of his hair but what’s left—a thin strip reaching from the back of his head to just above his ears—is still black, as is his stubble. And his skin has relatively few lines for a man of nearly thirty-nine. He assumes this must be down to his half-Mediterranean genes. Well, at least my dad came in useful for something.

In any case, Danny tells himself that he’s done everything he can to look his best for the weekend and he isn’t going to fall at the final hurdle. He opens an artichoke and sundried tomato salad and does his best to look enthusiastic.

A couple of hard-faced teenage girls wearing make-up so heavy it looks like it’s been applied by a five-year-old stalk down the aisle. Danny tenses his body in expectation of them sitting next to him and Guy. He tries not to let out a sigh of relief as they check the seat numbers and carry on moving down the carriage.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, pulling down the sides of another carrier bag, “I’ve brought us a little something to take us back to our student days.” He pulls out a few bottles of WKD and hands one to Guy.

“My God,” says Guy, as he holds it up to examine the luminous blue liquid, “do they still make this?”

“Apparently so,” says Danny. He adopts a snooty accent. “It’s just that we’ve become much too sophisticated to drink it.”

“Except for this weekend,” counters Guy. “I don’t plan on doing anything sophisticated this weekend.”

Now that sounds promising . . .

Danny proposes a toast. “To Manchester!”

“To Manchester!” Guy takes a swig from his bottle and pauses to consider the taste. “Wow, that really does take me back.”

Danny tastes his. “Yeah, if we close our eyes we could be in the Union.”

“Or on Canal Street.”

Danny sighs. “My God, we’ve got so many memories in that city.”

“I know,” says Guy, “I’m a bit nervous about going back.”

“Well, maybe we should knock the nerves on the head and throw ourselves in at the deep end,” suggests Danny. “Once we’ve settled into our hotel, why don’t we head over to the Village for a drink?”

“OK, let’s do it.” Guy dips his hand back into the crisps. “I’m assuming that’s where everything happens at Manchester Pride—on Canal Street?”

Danny opens up his phone and passes it to Guy so he can read the schedule. He explains that Manchester Pride is very different to other Pride events around the country: it’s a four-day festival stretching from the Friday to the Monday of the August Bank Holiday weekend and, as well as a huge party in the streets of the Gay Village, there’s a parade through the city center, an open-air arena hosting live music acts, and a program of LGBTQ+-themed arts and cultural events taking place in various venues. Danny came up with the idea of celebrating their anniversary a month earlier than is strictly accurate as, despite spending three years at Manchester University, neither Danny nor Guy has ever been in the city for Pride: as it didn’t fall during term time, it always clashed with summer jobs or family holidays. Perhaps that’s why Danny’s always thought of it as unfinished business, the missing piece in their shared history.

Just as Guy’s handing back his phone, the voice of the train manager comes over the tannoy.

“Welcome to this 17.20 Avanti Trains service to Manchester Piccadilly . . .”

Once again, Danny feels that mixture of excitement and fear pinball around his body. He plugs his anxiety with another swig of his drink and looks up to check there are no last-minute passengers approaching their table. They’re in the clear.

“If you’re traveling to Manchester for Pride,” the announcer continues, “we’d like to wish you all a safe and very happy weekend.”

At the other end of the carriage, a man wearing a Flash Gordon T-shirt with a glitter beard and the rainbow flag painted on his cheeks gives a cheer. His friends join in, raising their cans of lager in the air.

As the train pulls out of the station, fear suddenly overwhelms Danny’s excitement.

What if this all goes horribly wrong?

He exhales slowly. However terrified he is, he knows that he needs to bring things to a head, that at the very least he needs to express his feelings. After everything he and Guy have experienced together, after all the ups and downs of the last two decades, he owes it to himself to get them out in the open.

He looks across at Guy, searching for some kind of encouragement, something to cling onto to bolster his confidence.

As if reading his mind, Guy gives him a wink. “I’m really looking forward to this,” he says. “How about you, princess?”

“Princess” is his pet name for Danny but one he hasn’t used for years. As Danny’s ambushed by the memory of the very first time Guy used it, his heart slams into his throat.

He draws in an unsteady breath and rearranges his features into a smile. “Yes, my prince. I can’t wait!”

Did that boy just wink at me? I’m sure he just winked at me!

Danny told himself that he must be imagining it; whoever the boy was, he was way too good-looking to be interested in him. He had dirty-blond hair, a classic jawline, and had to be over six feet tall. When Danny looked closer he saw that he had a cute little gap in between his front teeth and a perfectly formed dimple in the center of his chin. He felt almost breathless with desire but shook his head and looked away.

It was the second day of term and Danny was at the Freshers’ Fair in the Academy concert hall, where later in the year some of the coolest music acts—like Suede, Groove Armada and The Streets—would be playing. Although right now it was difficult to picture the place as a venue for live gigs: it was filled with thousands of wide-eyed first years and over 300 stalls staffed by older students trying to recruit them to whichever group they were representing. The activities on offer catered to every interest—and many Danny hadn’t even known existed. So far, he’d spotted societies dedicated to knitting, sack racing, and custard wrestling, as well as being invited to join clubs that celebrated beekeeping, Bhangra and board games— and even something called the Up Shit Creek Without a Paddle Society, although he had no idea what that was supposed to be. As he walked past the lines of stalls, he tried not to get sidetracked. He needed to stay focused on the reason he was there; he was there to join the Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Society.

From as early as he could remember, Danny had known he was gay—and so had the other children at school. Although they preferred to use words like “poof,“ “queer,” and “bender,” informing him he was a pervert, would end up incontinent, and would die of AIDS. Growing up in 1990s Barrow-in-Furness, Danny hadn’t dared to make friends with anyone like him. There were a handful of other boys he’d sensed were also gay, such as Keith Trotter, who was in the year below him, wanted to be a professional dancer, and was obsessed with Janet Jackson. But, like him, Keith was called queer, so the two of them had avoided each other as if magnetically repulsed, as if the combined intensity of their gayness could only attract even more bullying. As if the joint force of their shame would only be suffocating.

When Danny had started at sixth-form college and found refuge in the local drama club, he came into contact with a few boys from other schools who he could tell shared the feelings he was struggling to accept in himself. But, however much he wanted to make friends with them, it was like he was held back by some kind of invisible barrier or force field. In the end, he and the boys just sniffed around each other, preferring to form friendships with the girls in the group. This was around the same time as the only openly gay man Danny had ever known, a man to whom he’d always felt drawn but was only just starting to think he might be able to confide in, had been subjected to an eruption of homophobia so intense it had left Danny terrified of ever coming out—or at least until he moved away from Barrow.

But he wasn’t going to let memories like that spoil the start of his new life in Manchester. The important thing was, this was a place where he could feel safe. And now that he was here, he wasn’t going to hide his sexuality. It’s perfectly natural that I’ll be nervous, but I’m just going to have to get over it.

In the next aisle, members of the student orchestra took out their instruments and began playing a piece of music Danny soon realized was a classical reworking of Who Let the Dogs Out. The grins and giggles coming from the musicians told him the song choice was meant to be some kind of ironic joke. It suddenly struck him how different he was to most of the other students; they were there to work out which activities might give them the most fun, but he was there for something much more serious. I’m here to become the person I was always meant to be.

The main reason Danny had applied to university in Manchester was because he’d understood it was somewhere he could live openly as a gay man. He’d read in magazines about the Gay Village around Canal Street and how it attracted men from all over the country. Then Queer as Folk had broadcast on Channel 4 and his fantasies had gone into overdrive. The only problem was, he’d be much too nervous to go to the Gay Village on his own—and that was why he needed to make some gay friends. But he still hadn’t spotted the stall for the LGB Society and was too frightened to ask one of the officious-looking organizers striding around shouting into their walkie-talkies. He found a quiet spot where he could stand on his tiptoes and look around.

Once again that tall, blond boy strayed into view. He was chatting to a trio of hairy, thick-set boys manning the stall for the university rugby team. As if it hadn’t already been obvious that he was out of Danny’s league, now he had another reason to look away: He’s hardly going to be gay if he plays rugby. But just then the boy turned and caught Danny’s eye. And from across the room, he gave him another wink.

Danny felt his lungs expel a bit of air.

He wondered if his hangover was making him hallucinate. Last night, he’d gone out with Emma, a confident and sexually forthright English Literature student from Glasgow who had a thick mane of copper hair, wore heavy eyeliner, and lived one floor down from him in the same hall of residence. The two of them had tipped back a plastic bottle of warm supermarket cider on the bus into the city center and gone to a huge party for freshers organized by the Students’ Union at a straight club called Infinity. They’d had a great time dancing under a huge glitter ball to music by Shakira, Sugababes, and Blue, but Danny couldn’t completely let himself go as he still had no idea how Emma would react if she knew he was gay. After a few drinks, he’d mustered up the courage to come out to her and, when she’d said she’d assumed he was gay and hugged him, he’d felt a rush of such joy he bought them a round of shots of hot cinnamon Aftershock. After downing these, they’d tipped back several more. When they were too drunk to dance, they’d slumped onto a staircase and Emma had slurred her way through an impassioned rant about the moral judgment directed against her as a sexually expressive woman—and Danny had experienced what he’d been convinced was a moment of acute social insight and declared that, as a gay man ostracized for his sexuality, the two of them were natural allies. By the time they’d begun staggering back to Hulme Hall, demolishing a pair of overcooked kebabs along the way, they were vowing to visit each other at home during the holidays, rent a house together in their second year, and even get matching tattoos.

Now it was the next morning, Danny felt embarrassed about having got so carried away and was careful to avoid all mention of tattoos. Thankfully, Emma was preoccupied with nursing her hangover.

“Sorry, pal,” she said as she reappeared from the toilets, “I had to go and chuck my guts up. Have you got any chewing gum?”

Danny pulled out a packet and gave her a couple. “If it’s any consolation,” he said, popping a few in his mouth, “I feel just as rough myself. My head’s banging and my mouth tastes like I’ve gargled with sweat.”

Emma held up her hand. “Don’t! You’re giving me the boak.”

Danny didn’t understand what that meant but could tell from her expression it wasn’t good. “Babe, are you sure you want to be here?”

She nodded slowly. “Aye. I said I’d be your moral support and I will. But let’s get on with it—I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Danny spotted an information stand and slid over to pick up a map. He read down the list of stalls. “According to this, the LGB Society should be in that corner over there.”

He led Emma toward a stall that was tucked away under a staircase, at a discreet distance from the rest of the action. But this was where the discretion ended: the stand had been painted bright pink and was decorated with a pair of rainbow flags and several garlands of silver tinsel. It was staffed by a pale, intense-looking boy with a shaved head and lots of badges emblazoned with political slogans, and a girl in a baseball cap, crop top and combat trousers, with piercings through her eyebrows and a bolt through her nose.

“Fuck me,” said Emma, “if you were nervous before, I bet you’re shitting yourself now.”

Danny elbowed her in the ribs but could feel a coil of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “Actually, my hangover’s worse than I thought,” he said. “Maybe I’ll do this another time.”

“Like hell you will. Get a grip, pal! I’ve not dragged myself here for you to bottle it at the last minute!”

He drew in a ragged breath and looked over his shoulder to check no-one was watching. Before he could talk himself out of it, he shuffled over to the stall.

“Hello,” he said in a low voice, “I’m Danny. I’d like to sign up.” To his left, two well-built boys from the boxing club strode past. He could feel his shoulders stiffen but they strode on without paying any attention.

“That’s great news,” said the boy. “Welcome to the family.”

Danny felt a rush of happiness so strong it left him quite breathless. Where did that come from?

“And how about your friend?” asked the girl, nodding toward Emma, who was now putty-faced, leaning over the stall, dry-retching. “Is she joining?”

Emma didn’t look up but waved her hand in the air. “Sorry, hen, I’m not into minge,” she called out before rushing off in the direction of the toilets.

The girl pulled a face, as if she’d just announced she’d massacred her entire family and eaten the remains.

“Sorry,” said Danny, “it was a heavy night.”

He quickly changed the subject and asked them about the kind of activities the LGB Society organized. They told him they held regular coffee socials and meetings of their poetry reading collective and book club. They handed him a stack of leaflets with information about the University’s LGB policies, initiatives the society organized to raise funds to combat HIV/ AIDS, and a march demanding the repeal of Section 28 that members were planning on attending in London. It all sounded very interesting, if slightly earnest.

“Do you ever organize nights out?” Danny ventured.

“What do you mean?” asked the boy.

“You know, like nights out to bars and stuff ? In the Gay Village?”

The two of them shot him a frigid look.

“We do organize a monthly trip to the Village,” said the boy, “but the focus tends to be on LGB culture and history, rather than just getting drunk.”

Danny tried not to see his more riotous Queer as Folk fantasies skipping away up Canal Street. This is just a start, he reassured himself. Once you’ve made some gay friends, you can arrange to go out under your own steam.

“If you give me your details,” the boy went on, “I’ll let you know when the next one is.”

He handed over a clipboard and a pen and Danny began filling in his contact details, including the number for the brand-new Nokia mobile phone that was clipped to his belt. Although he was worried about how he was going to afford his new life as a student now the government had axed all maintenance grants, he’d spent some of the money he’d earned from working in his local Blockbuster video store over the summer on his first mobile. He couldn’t bear the idea of the other students thinking he had less money than them and couldn’t bear the idea of missing out on anything.

“OK, well, thanks,” he said. “And I guess I’ll see you both soon.” He gave them a smile and stepped away.

Once he’d rounded the corner, he texted Emma to say he’d wait by the main entrance. He found a quiet spot, closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. But it was no use—his head was pounding so violently he wondered if he might be having an aneurysm. He looked at his watch and decided it was just about safe to take another couple of Ibuprofen tablets. He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag, downed the pills and drained the bottle dry. He changed his chewing gum and leaned back against a wall to read one of his leaflets.

“Hello, hello,” came a deep voice.

He looked up. Standing in front of him was the tall, blond boy he’d noticed earlier. The sight of him knocked the breath out of Danny’s throat. He was even more handsome close up, with arresting blue eyes set perfectly apart, a light dusting of freckles over his thick, muscular forearms, and that mesmerizing dimple on his chin.

“Oh, hi,” Danny said as casually as he could.

When the boy smiled, Danny got a glorious view of the little gap between his front teeth. As he did, his stomach flipped, just like it had when he was little and his mum had taken him to Blackpool to go on the Big One rollercoaster.

“What’s that you’re reading?” the boy asked.

Danny felt awkward but checked himself with a reminder that now he was in Manchester, he wasn’t going to lie about his sexuality. “Oh, it’s just something about the LGB Society,” he answered, handing over the leaflet. He hoped the chewing gum stopped him smelling of rotten alcohol.

“LGB?” asked the boy, turning it over in his hands. “What’s that?”

Danny could feel the heat prickling his face but forced himself not to lower his voice. “Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual.”

There was a pause.

“Cool,” said the boy, handing back the leaflet.

“Yeah, apparently it used to be called GaySoc but they changed its name.” Danny hoped he wasn’t rambling.

The boy nodded and tucked his hands under his armpits. “Well, maybe I should sign up.”

Danny stepped back in shock. What? Did he just tell me he’s gay?

“I’m actually here to join the rugby club,” the boy added, before Danny could say anything.

Oh no, don’t change the subject!

“I’ve come with a friend from school,” he went on. “We went to Radley.”

Danny was pretty sure Radley was a posh school, and the boy did speak with a slightly plummy voice. He suddenly felt conscious of his northern twang. “Oh yeah, so where are you from?” he asked.

“Buckinghamshire,” the boy replied. “But I boarded. How about you?”

“Barrow-in-Furness. And there was no boarding at my school; I went to the local comprehensive.”

“Cool,” the boy said again.

Danny chuckled. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d seen the state of it. It was a right shithole.”

“Oh, OK, sorry . . .”

“Don’t be daft, it’s fine.”

They hit another bump of silence. Danny felt almost dizzy with desire. Oh my God he’s gorgeous. But surely he can’t be gay?

“Anyway, I should probably introduce myself,” said the boy. “I’m Guy, Guy Falconer.”

He held out his hand and Danny took it. His grip was sturdy and Danny tried to shake his hand firmly. “Danny. Danny Baxter.”

“Good to meet you.”

“Oh and I’m doing Drama. How about you?”

“Law.”

Danny gave an exaggerated frown. “Very serious.”

“Yeah it is, kind of.” Guy looked around cautiously. “I doubt there’ll be any other gays on my course.”

Fuck, so he IS gay! Danny thought his legs might be about to give way. What am I supposed to say to that?

“No, I expect not,” was all he could manage, his voice cracking.

“Not that I’m out yet,” said Guy, scrunching up his nose. “Except to you now. But I guess I had to tell someone. You know what it’s like.”

Danny nodded; he did know what it was like. But at the same time, he was struggling to understand this. How had he gone from being the effeminate boy everyone hated to making friends with the most gorgeous boy he’d ever seen—and one who’d just told him he was gay? Not in his most optimistic fantasies about his life in Manchester had he dared imagine anything like this. He tried to remain calm. “Yeah, well, I feel honored,” he said with a smile.

A flash of fear passed across Guy’s face. “I hope you don’t mind keeping it to yourself though, at least for now.”

“Of course not,” Danny reassured him. “I totally get it, don’t worry.”

They were interrupted by a pair of actors in Elizabethan dress who were reciting a famous speech from a Shakespeare play that they’d adapted to promote the University of Manchester Drama Society. The actors drew out every last syllable as if luxuriating in the lines, projecting their voices as loudly as they could. Danny took a leaflet before the two of them gave a theatrical wave and flounced off.

Danny looked at Guy and pulled a face. “Just so you know, not all of us who do Drama are like that.”

“What do you mean?” said Guy.

“Just that I am an actor and I do love it but I’m not into any of that hammy, thespy stuff.”

Guy grinned at him, mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure you can be a real drama queen when you want to.”

Danny clutched his chest and gave a gasp. “Queen? I think you’ll find I’m a princess!”

He felt a flare of self-loathing. Oh God, why do I have to be so camp?

Guy gurgled with laughter. “Listen, how would you feel if I took your number? Maybe we could meet up on our own?”

Fuck, is this really happening?

“Oh, urm, yeah, OK,” Danny struggled.

He fumbled for his phone and just about managed to give Guy his number and save his. Thank God I bought a mobile!

As he leaned in to check Guy had entered his details correctly, he noticed that he smelled of fabric conditioner and Wash & Go shampoo. Oh, he’s so normal. He’s so perfect.

“OK,” said Guy, “I’d better go and find Rags.”

“Rags?”

“My friend from school.”

“Oh, OK, great. Speak to you soon.”

Guy gave Danny another wink. “Speak to you soon, princess.”

Danny felt his heart give a little wobble. As he watched Guy walk away, he shook his head and blinked slowly. Although he was still baffled by their conversation, at the same time it was like the fog of his hangover had suddenly cleared.

He wasn’t even sure he had a headache anymore.

As Danny and Guy step off the train and make their way through Piccadilly station, Danny wonders again if he fell in love at first sight. But, now that I think of it, what does that even mean?

It strikes him that there are so many different types of love, there should be several words for it. The sparks of new love have to be very different fro